A tribute to the Rangers
by fire-forged
Summary: just a oneshot, a conversation between Strider and Frodo on the way to Rivendell, where Strider explains about the rangers to a curious hobbit. R&R please!


This is just a one-shot…a conversation between Frodo and Aragorn on the road to Rivendell, where Aragorn explains about the rangers to a curious hobbit. R&R please!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Lord of the Rings and all characters and places are the property of Tolkien. This story was written purely for fun and I make no money out of it.

"We will stop here for the night"

Frodo looked up wearily, glancing at the clearing he found himself in. He had never been happier to hear those words. He had no idea how long they had been walking but he did know that his legs were not very happy about it and his stomach had been complaining constantly for the last hour. And it was only the first day! He didn't know how he was going to make it to Rivendell. He was pretty certain that if they kept up this pace his legs would soon drop off and go in search of a master who treated them better.

These sentiments were apparently echoed by those around him, as Sam, Merry and Pippin flopped down on the ground with a sigh of relief, too tired to even badger Strider about supper. But the ranger had not forgotten, and was even now digging through the packs taking out some dried meat and fruits given to them by Butterbur, the innkeeper at the Prancing Pony.

Sensing Frodo's glance, Strider looked up and smiled slightly. 'Rest a while, Frodo. Supper will be ready soon.'

Frodo merely nodded and sat down close to where his friends were now bickering about whose pack was lighter, and leaned his head against the tree-trunk, enjoying this respite from the constant walking. He smiled slightly as the younger hobbits arguments continued, now a discussion on who had been to more birthday parties that year, and how many presents they had gotten. It seemed that no matter how tired the hobbits were, they could always afford to spend some energy quarrelling.

Soon, as promised, the smell of hot stew poured through the clearing and moving closer to the fire, the hobbits quickly drained out their bowls. It was a much smaller serving then they were used to, but they knew how meagre their food stocks were and didn't complain. Then, too tired to do much else, they spread out their bedrolls and were soon fast asleep.

All except one that was.

Frodo was still sitting next to the tree, staring idly into nothing. He had said that he was not sleepy and wanted to stay up for a while, but that was not really the reason for his being awake. In his mind, Frodo was still uneasy about the ranger, Strider. He had seen nothing today to make him doubt him; indeed there had been many opportunities for him to kill the hobbits or take the ring, if that was his purpose, for they were deep in the forest, far from any help, defenceless and at his mercy. However, Strider had not even mentioned the ring and had led them by safe paths hidden from the eye of the enemy. Yet Frodo was still unwilling to trust him completely and intended to keep an eye on him, to make sure he did not abandon them in the night, or disappear to alert someone else of their whereabouts. There seemed to be a mysterious aura about Strider, as though there was much more to him then met the eye, and Frodo could not sleep easily without knowing more about him.

A sudden soft hiss from near the fire tore him out of his reverie and he swung around expecting to see some dark monster standing there, ready to pounce, but instead he saw only Strider, bent over something. Berating himself for not playing closer attention to Strider, which after all had been his reason for staying awake, he scooted closer to him. Curiously, he peered over his shoulder, and what he saw caused him to reel back in shock. There was a large wound just on top of Strider's right knee, which was slowly oozing blood over his leg.

Shocked at the sight before him, Frodo could only stutter, "Strider…Strider…" The ranger's head swivelled in alarm at the distress in Frodo's voice and, following his gaze, glanced back to the bloody wound on his leg. Comprehension dawned and he laughed gently, seeking to calm Frodo. "Calm down, Frodo. You'll wake the others. Here, sit down," he said indicating a place next to him. Still staring at the wound, Frodo obeyed without conscious thought. Finally finding his voice, he murmured, "But what happened? I had no idea you were so grievously hurt. How?"

"It is nothing, young hobbit." Strider replied, turning back to his wound. "Just a small relic of a…shall we say _unfortunate encounter_ with a pack of wolves, a couple of days back."

Frodo, still taken aback, just continued to stare at the wound as Strider gently washed it with a strip of cloth, wincing slightly every now and then as the water stung his wound. _That_ was nothing? Frodo shuddered to think of what 'something' would be for the ranger.

Oblivious to Frodo's thoughts, Strider murmured as if to himself, " It had nearly closed, when we set out, but it seems as if the walking has opened it again. It is not too bad, and should heal soon. In fact, I'm quite lucky to have gotten away with only this, it could have been much worse…"

_-----flashback-------_

_It was nearly dusk, and the ranger moving easily through the forest was looking forward to stopping for the night. He was travelling to Bree, now less than a day's journey away, heading to the small town on Gandalf's bidding, who had told him that the ring bearer would be arriving there, and might require some assistance. Of course, Gandalf was going to be there as well, but Aragorn felt that it was partly his duty to ensure that the Ring reached Rivendell safely. _

"It was after all my forefathers fault that it still exists," he thought sombrely, guilt engulfing him as he thought of the young hobbit who would have to bear the heavy burden, only because the race of men was not strong enough to resist its temptation. He sighed heavily. Such negative thoughts had been plaguing him more and more frequently of late. Pushing them away, at least for the moment, he continued his trek. "At least tomorrow I will be able to sleep in a proper bed," he thought.

_It was quite dark by the time Aragorn finally reached the clearing where he had been planning to stop tonight. Putting down his pack, he started to build a fire. It was then that he first heard the noise, a low growl, barely discernible. Immediately alert, Aragorn closely scanned the trees in front of him, looking for any sign of movement, but all seemed to be still. Thinking it to be a mere figment of his imagination, he continued what he was doing, only to hear it again a while later, and this time he thought he discerned a child's cry behind it. Grabbing a branch from the now burning fire, and with his sword by his side as always, he moved swiftly but carefully towards the source of the noise. Not far away from the clearing he spotted three wolves crowded around the base of a tree, and what he saw when he looked up chilled his blood. A young child, no more than eight years old, was sitting on one of the lowest branches of the tree, weeping with fright and trying to keep out of range of the slashing jaws and flashing teeth below him. _

_Cursing softly to himself, Aragorn unhesitatingly stepped out into the open, purposely making a lot of noise in order to divert the wolves' attention on to himself. It worked, the wolves abandoning their frightened prey, and turning to face this new threat._

_  
Bracing himself for the inevitable, Aragorn sighed to himself again. The Valar really had_ _something against him. Couldn't they, even just once, allow him to make a journey without being attacked, injured, captured or otherwise harmed in any way? Just one journey, that would allow him to prove to his father and brothers that contrary to popular belief, he was capable of walking out of the house and coming back unscathed?_

_And as the first wolf leapt, Aragorn resigned himself to the fact that no, it was not to be._

_Taking a small step in front, Aragorn brought his blade up and sliced through the first wolf's neck as it leapt towards him. Sensing a movement from the side, he ducked quickly and narrowly avoided the open claws of the second wolf. He thrust the burning branch towards it, causing it to move back in fear, while he spun around to face a third wolf coming towards him. Slashing at it, he managed to open a fairly deep wound on its belly, causing it to howl in pain and anger. Moving quickly to the side, he dispatched the previous wolf with a straight sword thrust to the head but before he could attack the last one, it leapt on him, causing him to drop heavily to the ground. With amazing strength fuelled by anger, the wolf pinned him to the ground trying to get at his throat, Aragorn barely holding it back with his bare hands, his sword having dropped in the fall. Struggling ferociously, the wolf lashed out with his hind paw, and Aragorn nearly cried out as he felt the skin on his right leg being torn. He knew he needed to end the fight, now. Thinking quickly, he moved his head up and hit it hard on the face. The wolf fell back, dazed for a moment. It was all the opening Aragorn needed. Reaching swiftly for his sword, he brought it up and thrust it into the wolf's belly, grimacing as the hot blood flowed all over his hand. Standing up, he took a quick look around the trees, and satisfied that there were no more enemies in sight, he sent a quick word of thanks to the Valar for seeing him through another night._

_Moving back to the tree, he found the child still sitting there. He had stopped crying and was not staring at Aragorn with wide eyes. 'I probably frighten him as much as the wolves,' he thought with a glint of humour, imagining how he must look covered with blood, the wolves and his, and brandishing a similarly bloody sword._

_Giving the child a comforting smile, he slowly reached up to him, and said softly, "Do not worry little one, they will not get you now. You are safe. You can come down now."_

_The child stared for a while longer at the ranger, and then slowly climbed down, standing silently in front of him. Aragorn squatted down to him, ignoring the sudden pain from his wound.  
"Are you hurt, young one?" he asked.  
The child shook his head slowly.  
"Where do you live? What were you doing here all alone?"  
The child only pointed his hand silently in the general direction of Bree.  
"Your parents are in Bree?"_

_A nod in reply._

_Sensing that he was not going to get a more detailed answer, he stood up, and taking the child by the hand led him back to the campsite._

_"Come little one. I will watch over you tonight."_

_----End Flashback----_

"Strider?" The anxious voice of Frodo brought Strider back to the present. He had almost forgotten that Frodo was still beside him. "Did you find the child's parents?"

"Yes, I did. It seems that they had been on a picnic near the forest that day, and the child had wandered off and gotten lost. Unable to find him, they had gone home, hoping he had made his way back. They were very happy to see him." Strider's face lit up, remembering the joy on the mother's face. "Of course," he continued, his mood suddenly sobering, "they were not very happy that he had spent the night in a ranger's company…"  
Strider's voice trailed off, and he turned his attention back to bandaging the wound.

Tying off the bandage, he tried bending his leg to ensure it was not too tight and that it would not impede his movement, flinching when the wound stretched and sent a ripple of pain through his leg.

Frodo, watching this intently, once again spoke up. "How did you walk so far with a wound like that? I did not even see you limp at all, but walking with that must have really hurt."

"It is not too bad, though I admit resting for a while would have been more sensible." Strider laughed suddenly, the merry sound soothing away the lines of care from his face. "But, as I have no doubt my dear brothers would love to inform you, I very rarely take the path of what they would call common sense" Seeing the troubled look on Frodo's face, Strider reassured him gently. "Fear not, Frodo. I am used to much worse than this."

Frodo nodded to his words, but he was uneasy not because of Strider's wound, but about Strider himself. There were a million questions swirling around in his head that he wanted to ask, and this conversation had given him a lot to think about. He had thought that rangers were no more than thieving scoundrels, having heard rumours about the wandering men, even in the Shire. It was one of the reasons he had not wanted to accept Strider's company for this road. But all that he had seen of Strider until now showed only the contrary. Had he not rescued an innocent child from certain death? Had he not battled three wolves for him, putting his life at stake to save his, and asking for (and receiving) nothing in return? Was he not looking after the hobbits even now, watching over them as they slept, putting their comforts above his own?

"Strider…" he began hesitantly. "What do rangers really do? I mean, begging your pardon, I've only heard bad things about you, but you don't seem to be that bad, if you go around protecting children and so on. What do you do?" Frodo looked away, quite embarrassed by his direct questions.

"Frodo, I will explain this to you, because I sense that this is the only way you will believe me, and get some sleep instead of trying to watch me all night long." Strider chuckled at the surprised look in Frodo's eyes. "Yes, I knew of that, and don't worry I don't fault you for it. Instead I am proud that you display such caution and wariness, I would have expected nothing less."

"But you ask of the rangers, and you are right, we do go around protecting the people. That is our purpose; that is our duty. We have been doing this since long before the time of your forefathers and their fathers before that. It has been our task down the long ages, as the seasons have changed, the leaves have fallen, winter has come and gone again, flowers have bloomed and so on and on down the generations the burden has been passed on too.

Think you Frodo that it has been mere luck that the Shire has been standing safe and secure for so many years? That the world is so safe that no evil has dared assault it? No, it is not so. The Shire, Bree and many other small human settlements scattered around middle-earth are but small refuges of light and happiness in this dark world, surrounded from all sides by a sea of evil. An evil that they are not even aware of, for between them and complete destruction lies the thin, but yet strong, wall of the rangers. When dark things come from the houseless hills, or creep from sunless woods, they fly from us. What roads would any dare to tread, what safety would there be in quiet lands, or in the homes of simple folk at night, if the rangers were all dead? If the North has known peace all these years, it is because of the never-ending efforts of the rangers. Our days have darkened, and our numbers have dwindled down the years, and the wall has grown thinner, but ever still we dedicate our lives to our long task, and as long as there is one ranger left that still draws breath, he will fight for the simple folk against all the evils of the land."

Strider finished his speech, and Frodo sat silent, trying to take in all he had heard. He had never given much thought to the peace and safety of the Shire, taking it for granted that the Shire was safe. But now he instinctively believed Strider, that this was due only to the rangers.

"But Strider," he questioned, "Why do you not let the people, I mean, us, know what you are doing. Why do you let them think that you are just common thieves?"

"Would you have believed me? I told you truly who I was, that I was here to help you, but did you believe to be anything more then a scoundrel?" Strider smiled gently at Frodo's sudden discomfiture. "People only look at the surface Frodo, it is easy for them to believe what they do, for that is all they see of us."

"But that is not fair!" Frodo burst out. "You are risking your very lives to help them, getting such grievous hurts like that one for their sakes and all they do is call you names and talk about you behind your backs! How can you stand it?"

Frodo looked up at Strider to see a quick flicker of emotion, something resembling sorrow and loneliness, flicker past his face. He stared for long into the fire, and when he replied, it was quietly, as if thinking about every word he said. "I used to think the same way Frodo. I used to get so annoyed by the ignorance of the people. The way the folk of Bree treat me is one of the kindest, there are towns where rangers are not given admittance at all, no matter how dire their needs. But I have grown now, and grown to accept it, and now I would not have it otherwise. For if simple folk are free from care and fear, simple they must be, and we must be secret to keep them so. Even if they would believe us, telling them about who we are will and about the darkness of the world outside, will be like stealing away the very simplicity, innocence and happiness that we seek to protect. Our task is not to gain the trust and popularity of the people, but to protect them, and as much as my heart longs for acceptance and trust on my long lonely journeys, this is the way it must be."

Strider fell silent then, and Frodo looked him with new eyes. He did not now see just a ragged traveller, with his mud-stained cloak and dirt-encrusted boots, he saw a man, older than he looked, hardened by many long journeys, by a difficult life in the wild, but yet going on uncomplaining. He looked at the high-set cheekbones and the firm bearing of his shoulders and saw a man accustomed to carrying heavy burdens, accustomed to bearing misfortunes and danger with never-failing courage and hope. But it was in his eyes that Frodo saw the most.

In those deep sparkling pools of green, Frodo saw a nobility and honour that he had never even imagined before, a majesty that was yet veiled but once having come to full light would be brighter than any before. He saw a bright and terrible power concealed there, like what he had seen in the few elves he had met, a power that would forever change middle-earth. He saw a hidden strength that was belied by a compassionate heart, and deepest of all he saw the eternal well of love that defined and gave meaning to his whole life.

And later on as he fell asleep, once again leaving Strider alone to the quiet of the night Frodo saw an image, or perhaps a dream of a great king of old, standing at the bow of a ship, his hood cast back, his dark hair blowing in the wind, a light in his eyes; a king returning from exile into his own land - and in that moment he was at peace.

So, what do you think? Is it good? Please do review, and be kind, it is my first attempt at writing fanfiction.

Oh and, some parts of the speeches were adapted from the books, mainly from the Council of Elrond chapter, when Aragorn talks about the duty of rangers, which was the main passage that inspired me to write this. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks for reading!

fire-forged


End file.
